By Greg McFarland

WHEN Sarah got home from work that first fateful evening, she noticed immediately that her husband seemed unusually excited; like he had a surprise and couldn’t wait to reveal it.

   Which was exactly the case, as it turned out.

   He took her to the internal garage door and opened it with a dramatic flourish.

   ‘Ta-da!’ he said enthusiastically.

   There was a long red shiny object leaning against the wall.

   It had wheels. It had seats and handlebars. It even had little rear-vision mirrors.

   It had been a long day at work and it took Sarah a moment to realise what she was looking at – a tandem.

   A bicycle built for two.

***

AS it turned out, the bike was not the only shock of the night.

   Drinking coffee afterwards, Andrew outlined a whole cycling/adventure/lifestyle program that he had obviously cooked up in recent weeks without a single warning comment to her.

   In their increasingly strained eight-year childless marriage, Sarah was used to her husband making decisions arbitrarily.

   To be in charge was as natural as breathing to Andrew, and he would have been genuinely dumbfounded if anyone had ever questioned him about it.

   He had more or less picked the house they lived in, he had definitely chosen the car they drove, and now he had apparently selected their “together” activity.

   “Together” now included matching riding jerseys, in bright red, to look like a little team.

   Andrew thought he had gone to a lot of trouble to get just the right look.

   Or maybe not.

   Sarah noticed that her husband’s jersey suited him very well, it was almost a tailored fit. He wore it right now (and in the days and weeks to come, he wore it nearly every day, even when they weren’t riding).

   But her jersey was too tight and felt sharp on all her soft places.

   (She would later take it back to the bicycle shop for a bigger size. The replacement was the same colour but not quite the same design. But Sarah thought Andrew would never notice the difference, and over the course of their short cycling career, he never did. Or at least never remarked on it.)

***

THE next day dawned fresh and sunny, and Andrew was clearly keen to get to grips with the tandem.

   He rushed them through breakfast and they gulped down their morning coffee, and then the garage roller door went up and it was time to face their new life.

   What Andrew hadn’t considered was that, while he and Sarah both had childhood experience of cycling, neither had ever ridden a bicycle with another person.

   And because the tandem was so long (it couldn’t fit on the back of the car, or on the roof, he had to get it delivered), they were going to have to learn to start off right in their street.

   In front of some of their neighbours (and an increasing number came out to watch as their first training session went on and on), they wobbled up and down their suburban cul-de-sac. After a few near misses with parked cars, and a collision or two with wheelie bins, they somehow achieved something like stability and reasonable forward velocity.

   Andrew was impressed with their first effort.

   Sarah not quite so.

   Because it had become immediately clear to her that Andrew had already decided he would be the leader of the new destiny.

   There are two roles on a tandem bicycle: the captain and the stoker.

   The captain is up the front, in control. The stoker is at the back, just pedalling away, to keep the whole enterprise moving forward.

   Automatically becoming the stoker bothered Sarah. When she thought about it, she had seen tandem cycling before. But what she had seen, in the Commonwealth Games or Paralympics or whatever, she had understood.

   Often the stoker had a disability, usually vision-related. They were able to compete in international sport only because they had an able-bodied companion up the front.

   But it was different for Sarah and Andrew. They were both able-bodied.

   Equals.

   And this was a hobby, not the Olympics. And if it came right down to it, she earned more money than her husband.

   She was really getting annoyed.

***

THE very next morning after that, which was a Sunday, Andrew announced they were going out with the local cycling group.

   Sarah was anxious – they had barely started riding on the tandem and could hardly make it out of their street.

   But Andrew, as always, was super-confident. This was going to be cycling with other people, a mass experience, part of the sporting culture they were going to enjoy now and into the future.

   And he assured her, tandems were very trendy now, there would be a lot of interest in their bike and a great number of envious people.

   When they met up with the cycling group at the local park, which was a meeting point before their collective ride, Sarah was okay with the whole thing.

   The riding group members, on average, seemed twice as old as her and Andrew. There was a lot of grey hair in this community of bicycle enthusiasts.

   As thirty-somethings, Sarah felt that while she and her husband were novices at this new sport, their youth and energy would carry the day.

   Until they all started out on the highway.

   While being twice their age, it soon became apparent that the cycling group were twice as fit.

   Which meant twice as fast.

   Really fast.

   Andrew and Sarah had to really work together to keep up – and they did slog it out as a team – and they did keep up somehow.

   But when they went to bed that night, bones and muscles aching, Sarah was really hoping that her husband was not going to pencil in another group ride for next weekend.

***

AS it happened, Andrew hadn’t done anything of the sort.

   He had conceived in his mind a romantic weekend activity, a day tour to the local wineries.

   There were several vineyards on the outskirts of the country city where they lived and, after hearing the master plan (or was it hearing the plan from the master), Sarah was honestly looking forward to it.

   Ahead of the departure, after hearing the news, Sarah had put in some preparation.

   The tandem had come with all these accessories, including what to her looked like saddlebags in the old Western movies.

   So, she loaded up the saddlebags (or panniers, as Andrew corrected her) with essentials for the winery tour.

   There was a picnic blanket, there were containers of cheese and biscuits, and dips, and a few other things that one found at the trendy delicatessen where Sarah liked to shop.

   As they headed out this fine Sunday morning, there was even a French stick loaf poking cheekily out of a saddlebag (pannier). It was all very European and stylish – at the beginning.

***

IT would all end in tears.

   Sarah knew this as soon as they got to the first winery.

   She had had barely a taste of wine (in those thimble-size things they give you, the cheapskates) before Andrew was haranguing her to get to the next destination on his pre-planned schedule.

   After the third and last winery (after which Sarah had consumed her third or so thimble-full), Andrew announced it was time for their picnic.

   It was still a pleasant day as they spread out their tartan blanket beside the river and Sarah unpacked the provisions.

   There were a couple of nice bottles of wine in there that they had picked up on their travels, their blanket was under a beautiful gum tree, and Sarah was happily planning to enjoy this special occasion all afternoon.

   But after just one small glass of wine and a quick nibble, Andrew became concerned, looking at some clouds above and worrying about a possible storm.

   At his insistence, they packed up after a very short time and headed off.

   Coming back, he decided to go by way of Liddell’s Hill. It was a steep descent back to town, and a road they hadn’t ridden before, but it was regarded by other cyclists as a good short-cut.

   Sarah decided she couldn’t care less one way or another.

   And, so, they crested Liddell’s Hill and started downhill.

   In the far distance, the weather still fine, they could see the outskirts of their town.

   Sarah noticed her husband seemed anxious.

   Liddell’s Hill was a narrow two-lane and there was a fair bit of traffic.

   They were coasting down, not at high speed but not slowly either.

   At the bottom of the hill the road levelled out and there was a concrete bridge to cross.

   Andrew was watching traffic come up the hill and looking constantly in the mirrors bolted on the ends of the handlebars for any vehicles coming up behind them.

   As they reached the bottom, something, somehow, went amiss.

   It happened so quick that it was hard to know what went wrong.

   But all Sarah knew for sure was that they had gone off the safe grip of the bitumen onto the loose gravel of the road shoulder, skidded, and ended up in the ditch.

   They were grazed and bruised but otherwise unhurt; however, the front wheel was buckled and they would ride no further that day.

   Luckily, a passing farmer picked them up with his utility and the front wheel went back to the bicycle shop for repair.

   But Sarah knew that wouldn’t be the end of the matter.

   While waiting for the wheel to come back, and even afterwards, Andrew harped on about the accident.

   It was clear, to him, that it was all her fault.

   ‘We were wobbling around all over the place. When we are going downhill like that, you’ve got to just sit still and hold on tight while I’m trying to steer,’ he accused.

   Sarah didn’t appreciate the comments, especially as parts of her anatomy were still black-and-blue from the incident.

   The wheel was soon fixed and the bicycle shop people offered to re-install it, but Andrew insisted on putting the wheel back on himself because he wanted to make sure it was done right.

***

AND so, in the weeks ahead, the cycling caper went on.

   And on.

   Each weekend, Andrew and Sarah would set out and ride somewhere; sometimes with the local cycling group but more often on their own.

   They were getting fitter, and more efficient, and so could go further every time. They toured every rural road in the district.

   Andrew noticed that Sarah said less and less but kept pedalling anyway.

   He wrongly took this to be a sign of unspoken acceptance of his role as the leader, picking a new activity that was good for both of them and their relationship.

***

THE breaking point came just a few weeks later.

   It was late summer, locust season, and as they cycled past a flat wheat field, a cloud of the giant grasshoppers beset them without warning, whirring up out of the grain stalks like miniature helicopters.

   Sarah was, for once, grateful to be in the rear because it was her husband who bore the brunt of the insects. She heard Andrew curse as the hard, dry bodies struck him.

   They had to stop soon after, because one had hit him squarely in the eye.

   Despite washing it out with some cool squirts from the water bottles they carried on the frame of the bike, his eye was angrily red and almost closed.

   Typically, even with the injury, Andrew still had the mental wherewithal to make a difficult leadership decision.

   ‘You’ll have to go up front,’ he said reluctantly.

   Sarah was secretly thrilled but also instantly nervous about her ability to do the job.

   But they started off again fine: roles reversed, but the same old team procedure – left feet on the ground, right feet on the pedals, push down hard and away they went.

   As they travelled further, it all seemed easier to Sarah and she was enjoying being in command.

   She glanced occasionally in the mirror to check on Andrew, who seemed miserable, one hand propping himself up and the other clamped over his eye. But he was still pedalling and they were clipping along at a good pace.

   Sooner than she expected, the long plains finished and there was going to be a downhill run from Liddell’s Hill – the same place where they had previously had a mishap.

   Sarah wasn’t unduly concerned, but clearly Andrew was, because he started making suggestions – from the back seat – about pulling up and changing over for the descent.

   She shook her head to his increasingly insistent demands, and there wasn’t much he could do about it as she was the one in control of the brake levers now.

   But one thing he could do to show his displeasure, he did.

   He stopped pedalling, withdrawing his contribution to the collective cycling effort. Sarah felt the difference immediately, the tandem slowing from the loss of energy.

   However, it wasn’t enough to stop the machine, they had too much rolling momentum and the tandem coasted over the peak and started downhill.

   Their speed was increasing rapidly and Andrew was getting agitated at a similarly growing rate.

   But Sarah was ignoring him.

   She had her hands firmly on the controls, she had her arms braced.

   She felt empowered.

   She was in charge.

   The ride down Liddell’s Hill was longer than Sarah remembered, and certainly quicker.

   The tyres were audibly humming from the high speed.

   Andrew was yelling from the back seat now, convinced they were going to crash.

   But Sarah felt completely confident.

   And then something unusual happened – the tandem suddenly felt lighter and more agile, and to her astonishment Sarah realised her husband had abandoned ship.

   He had simply leapt off the bike.

   Sarah could see him in the mirror, rolling in the grass at the side of the road.

   Meanwhile, she continued to plummet downhill, feeling the vibrations of the road through the handlebar grips.

   She flashed past the spot where they had pranged last time, no problem this time, and then the road levelled out and the speed of the tandem gradually fell away.

   In the mirror, Andrew was just a black spot in the distance.

   Sarah started pedalling again, it seemed so easy now, almost effortless, and so she decided to just keep going.